Tiara
by lege et lacrima
Summary: Tiaras: it started with one, and it'll end because of one. Crabbe/Goyle. -Lacrima-
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey, Lacrima here with my _firstest ever fanfic_. I feel simultaneously proud and dirty.  
But anyway, this idea came to me when conversing with Lege, and I felt the need to write it (because she _totally_ didn't bribe me into it...). It's Crabbe/Goyle, as you may have already figured. But to what degree... you shall have to wait and see. May or may not end up being more serious than I'm used to writing, but lets run with it and see.

Oh, and obviously, I own nothing of the HP franchise.

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**Chapter 1**

Alone in the cold, stone-walled room, a hulking figure sat on the edge of his bed. He sighed as he stared at the four-poster bed opposite him, its open emerald hangings revealing it to be empty. Once again, there was no Crabbe.

Gregory Goyle, for it was only him who would possibly be missing Crabbe in his absence, stood up and crossed the room to a jug of water sitting on the other side of the room. Simply for something to do. His best friend was currently locked away in professor McGonagall's office for remedial transfiguration, as he was every Friday night. Stupid teachers, actually caring how Crabbe went in his studies. Not like the Dark Lord cared how many N.E. a student had.

Hehe, N.E.W.T. Goyle sniggered. It was funny because it was like "newt". And, you know, wizards like newts, or something.

Anyone else would have gotten tired of the joke, but then again anyone else would have been quite a lot smarter than Goyle.

Goyle stopped laughing just as abruptly as he had started. It was Crabbe who had pointed out the pun to him, but there was no Crabbe to laugh with him now.

The door of the dormitory burst open, and in strutted four individuals. Goyle glanced up and recognised them as two of his dorm-mates, Blaise Zambini and Theodore Nott, who had two girls draped over his arms. One was Pansy Parkinson, and the other Frances somethingorother. Or was it Freda. Who cares. Both were wearing ridiculously short skirts and skimpy tops, leaving very little to Goyle's unimaginative imagination. As if to compensate for this large amount of viewable skin, the girls had caked their faces in as much makeup as was physically impossible, and were draped in jewellery. Both presumably believed they seemed unbelievably attractive in this state.

"Goyle, we're going out. You want to come?" Nott asked. His attempt at looking dignified in a set of finely tailored dress robes, as well as the fact that he had Pansy attached to him, confirmed that he was trying his very best to slip into their ex-friend Draco Malfoy's shoes, who hadn't returned to school after the Easter holidays. Nobody was very impressed by this. Except for maybe Pansy…

"Goin' where?" Goyle replied.

"Pub. Hogsmeade. Rocky And The Red Caps are playing live at the Three Broomsticks. You in?"

There was a pause. "Nah. I gotta write a Charms essay."

"Since when did you care about homework, Goyle?" Zambini enquired from the doorway, suspicious. "I was under the impression that your work ethic was 'no assignment is good assignment'."

"Since he said that if I got another T in my work he'd keep me in all Sunday for super… supervi… watched revision. For the rest of the term."

"Ooh, harsh…" Nott muttered. "So you're not coming?"

Goyle shook his head.

"Oh, what a shaaame," Pansy said, sounding anything but sad at this news.

"Maybe next time, eh? Send Git-wick our love." The four filed out, leaving Goyle alone once again.

After waiting about ten minutes, Goyle stepped out of the dormitory and peered into the common room to check that they'd left. There was no-one taller than a third-year. Content with this, Goyle went back into his dormitory, pulling a long brown overcoat over his robes and donning a hat, before leaving the Slytherin Dungeon and making his way through the dark corridors to leave the castle. He hadn't technically lied about having an essay to do, since he did. He just didn't feel like doing it. Sure, Flitwick would give him extra lessons, but who said he was going to attend them?

He passed into the Entrance Hall with out any incident; the only person he had seen was Amycus Carrow out on patrol, who had nodded at Goyle as he passed. Man, being a Slytherin, especially a seventh-year, had its perks around here nowadays. If a Griffindor tried to wander around after curfew as Goyle was doing, they'd be on a different plane of existence before they could say "I'm a pussy muggle-loving embarrassment to wizardkind".

Stepping into the chilly night air of the grounds, Goyle smiled. Then grinned. Then started giggling. By the time he was walking down the broad path that led to Hogsmeade village, he was in fits of laughter.

_Git-wick. It was like Flitwick, but he was a git. So it was funny…_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I would've updated this earlier, but Procrastination is a cruel mistress. Blame her.

Yeah, first chapter was uneventful, but the scene needed to be set. Something happens in this chapter though, I promise.

(Oh, and reviews would be appreciated. I see why they're the equivalent of crack 'round here...)

I own nothing, JKR owns all else, including lyrics.

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**Chapter 2**

The mindless thrashing of a demented drum solo, the insane volume only vaguely muffled by the stone walls of the Three Broomsticks, met Goyle's ears as he passed by. But tonight Goyle was in the mood for a more, ah, quieter atmosphere.

Pushing the door of the Hog's Head open, he was immediately greeted by the distinct smells of alcohol, vomit and miscellaneous farm animal. Shortly following this attack on his nostrils came what sounded like a very heated argument (as the speed of smell is evidently faster than the speed of sound).

"I don't care if they're worth a _million_ Galleons, you're not peddling that crap here!" the voice of the barman boomed throughout the pub. Goyle, having never heard him say much more than 'that'll be four sickles', was shocked by the amount of power those words had. The man he was accosting looked about a quarter the barman's age, and yet looked scared shitless as he started cramming god-knows-what back into his grimy pockets.

Shrugging away the surprise, Goyle took advantage of the barman's distracted state and crossed the main area of the pub virtually unnoticed. On the opposite side of the room there was a rarely-noticed dusty old door with a small sign attached to it reading 'restricted: 17+ only'. Goyle slipped inside.

Inside, the usual pub smells were replaced by that of smoke and sickly scented candles. Whether the candles were a bad attempt to cover up the smoke, or to add some sort of vibe to the room was anyone's guess. The room consisted of small groupings of chairs around small tables, all generally facing in the direction of a stage at the front of the room. Currently atop the stage was a voluptuous young woman, all legs and heels and tresses of blonde and rather indecent attire. And by attire, I mean a translucent scrap of sparkle that can't not have been held up solely by magic. Completely unsurprisingly, the only other inhabitants of the room were male.

Goyle sat down on a spare chair at the back, instantly transfixed by the jiggling, gyrating, sparkling figure ahead.

"Give a round for Glitterella, gents!" a greasy little man exclaimed into his magical microphone, jumping out onto the stage as the woman strutted off. The only way the applause could have been louder is if the scrap of sparkle had parted with its owner.

"'ere's no way those were natural," muttered a voice to Goyle's left. "Gotta've been Engorged. I'd bet money on that." Turning in the voice's direction, Goyle nearly fell off his chair in shock as he noticed that he was next to a witch.

"But you're… you… but… boobies…" Goyle stuttered, as eloquent as always.

Lifting the face-covering veil, a chin coated in three-day growth became visible. "Nah, I can 'ssure you I'm male. Don' ask why the skirt. 'S complicated."

Goyle was about to ask why it was complicated, but the MC was talking again.

"Now, gents and gentlemens." It was amazing the way he could make even the word 'and' sound sleazy. "It's Friday night, and on Friday nights a special lady friend of mine comes for a show." Hoots and catcalls filled the room, not all of them encouraging. "You all know who she is! The lovely and stunningly gorgeous-" more hoots "-siren of the stage, give a hand to… Vincentiaaa!"

The Not-A-Witch snorted, but Goyle ignored him.

Twanging chords of an acoustic guitar came from seemingly nowhere as the moth-eaten crimson curtains as the back of the stage, revealing an enormous woman. Where Glitterella was dainty, Vincentia had what looked disconcertingly like muscle. Quite a lot of muscle. The tight red dress clung to all the wrong bulges, and beehive hairdos had gone out of fashion long ago. But from the unsteady heels to the silver tiara topping her 'do, Goyle was transfixed. And she hadn't even opened her mouth yet.

"_Oh, come and stir my cauldron,_" sung Vincentia in deep, husky tones, "_and if you do it right…_" The gorgeous unusualness of her singing only enhanced Goyle's ability to gawp like an idiot at the woman now slinking down the aisle between the tables. If only she came over to where Goyle was sitting…

"_I'll boil you up some hot, strong love, and keep you warm tonight._" She crept further up the aisle, ignoring taunts and lewd remarks. But all Goyle could pay attention to was the glinting tiara in her hair… and her generous bosom. To him, she was gorgeous. And she was getting closer. Much closer.

"_Oh, my poor heart…_" she crooned, only three feet away from Goyle, "_Where has it gone?"_ Her leg was on his thigh, and he could barely breathe. "_It's left me for a sp—_"

She froze as a glimmer of recognition spread across her face, and when pale when an identical glimmer crossed Goyle's.

He knew those murky eyes. That nose. That scar on the neck from a wayward curse.

It was Crabbe.

_Shitshitshitshitwhat'shedoinghere?_ Crabbe thought as fast as his little mind could.

"… Vince?!" Goyle whispered incredulously, as any remaining colour drained from Crabbe's face.

As the memory that he possessed working legs came back to Crabbe, he ran back up the aisle as fast as his tottering heels would allow, ignoring the complaints from the rest of the audience. Goyle, too, remembered he had other appendages below his waist, and scarpered out the room, the bar, and Hogsmeade.

-

By the time Goyle was back in the Slytherin common room, he was still just as confused as when he left. What exactly was going on with Crabbe? And why was he not at Remedial Transfiguration?

Nott, Zambini and the girls had not yet returned, and their dormitory was almost empty. The 'almost' being Crabbe, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head resting on his hands, eyes red.

Goyle coughed to draw attention to his arrival, and Crabbe glanced up before averting his eyes again. Goyle sat down on his bed opposite, the boys not looking at each other. Not daring to.

They sat in silence for several minutes, neither knowing how to make the situation any less uncomfortable.

"I didn't know you could sing," Goyle said finally.

At this, Crabbe stood up, punched Goyle in the face and stormed out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Argh, short chapter. This was gonna just be the first part of chapter 3, but very important other activities and a severe lack of motivation only got me this far. You you get this now, and more later.

Oh, and if you're actually reading this, a review or something would be loved. Just so I know someone actually cares about this =/

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**Chapter 3**

Despite not being able to sleep the entire night, Goyle never heard Crabbe come back. However, his bed had obviously been slept in. Tiptoeing out of the dormitory as to not wake up the sleeping Pansy (unbridled, stressful panic wasn't the only reason Goyle had gotten no sleep; Nott and Pansy had been doing unmentionably naughty things after they had come back, and the mere _thought_ of that would send anyone screaming all the way to St. Mungo's), Goyle strolled down to the Great Hall as composed as he could.

"So then I say to the little squirt, I say…" Nott recounted enthusiastically to the distracted Crabbe sitting to his left. "I say, 'hey you, you're a little squirt!' That's what I say. I said that." But his breakfast buddy was a million miles away. Or, to be more specific, about four miles and seven and a half hours away. Staring absent-mindedly at the large wooden doors at the opposite end of the hall, those four miles and seven and a half hours came crashing uncomfortably into the present as another massive figure strolled almost composed through the entrance. Goyle. Crabbe averted his eyes quickly, and attempted to himself in his porridge. Nott somehow managed to not notice this, and instead continued his story to the girl opposite him, who was far more involved in trying to figure out whether Crabbe was suffocating or merely eating enthusiastically.

His usual seat at the Slytherin table was empty, but Goyle had no intention whatsoever of sitting so close to Crabbe. So instead he wandered over to where his Zambini was sitting, and squeezed in between him and his neighbour, much to the complaint of the surrounding people.

"Excuse me, _Gregory_," a haughty girl Goyle didn't know, but recognised as the type that seemed to be electrostatically attracted to Zambini, said, "but me and Blaise here were in the middle of a very important conversation so we'd very much appreciate it if you buzzed off. Wouldn't we, Blaise?"

Zambini looked like he would be indifferent as to whether the girl was trampled by an invisible carthorse. But hey, that was the attraction wasn't it?

He sighed. "Goyle, what do you want? Shouldn't you be over there hauling Crabbe out of his porridge and giving him the Kiss of Life before he chokes to death on a lump?"

Goyle blanched at the use of 'you', 'kiss' and 'Crabbe' in the same sentence, but no-one else seemed to notice. As everyone else in the vicinity pretty much worshipped Zambini, they were all laughing at his joke. Except Zambini, of course. Laughing at his own joke would be lame.

"But really now," Zambini added seriously, and with a wave of his hand everyone was silent. "Is anything wrong with you and Crabbe? I could have sworn he dived deeper a you walked past."

"Nrph," Goyle grunted as non-committally as he could muster.


End file.
